


Men Don't Love Men

by SageMasterofSass



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, homophobia i suppose, not blatant or anything but what i figure probably ran p rampant at the time, uhh other than that this is just kind of a self indulgent thing, with Silver finally getting the upper hand on something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:55:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3583677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So who's T.H. then?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Men Don't Love Men

**Author's Note:**

> My first thought when they revealed that the note in the book was for Flint (beyond my internal screaming and freaking out, because I wasn't expecting it, honest to god) was 'I wonder what Silver would think of that'. And then I was thinking about the homophobia of the time, what they believed back then, and I already knew I wanted to write a fic where Silver finally gets the upper hand on something with Flint and this was kind of born. I might follow it up with something else, but probably not.

 

"So who's T.H. then?"

The question, when looked at objectively, is completely harmless. But to Captain Flint, who is anything but objective, it feels something akin to having a pistol pressed to his temple, especially considering who's lips formed the words.

John Silver lays casually stretched across the bed Flint has only just vacated, the sheets still mussed from their activities, and sure enough _Meditations_ is propped open before him, those long, clever fingers stroking the edges of the pages almost absently. His gaze skips across the words penned on the very first one, and then back up to Flint's face, gauging his reaction.

Carefully devoid of expression except for a signature scowl and glare, Flint steps into his trousers and stares Silver down while he fastens them, so that eventually Silver begins to fidget under his gaze. Only then does he offer a gruff, "Nobody."

It's always like this with Silver, every move, every word carefully calculated. He knows it's the same on Silver's end, has watched his quick wit flash in those too blue eyes when Flint thinks he's cornered him, always managing to get himself out at the very last second. It's not a game of cat and mouse, but more a tug of war. They give and take, pushing each other to see just how much they can each get away with, and though Flint likes to think he's in control of it all, the truth is he's not.  He's just as careful about everything he does and says, because he knows Silver could have the upper hand in less than a heartbeat and it would upset the unsteady balance they've managed to create. It's shaky at best, an allegiance built on convenience and greed and a mutual desire to use each other. Even this, Silver stretched naked across a bed for hourly rent, the mattress stained by men and women before them doing the very same acts they themselves were committing. Even this is calculated.

What's not calculated is the sly way Silver looks back down in the book in his hands, probably snatched up from Flint's discarded clothing, and lets a smile cross his devious mouth. "Doesn't seem like nobody. James. That's your first name isn't it? She must have been madly in love with you."

His name sounds wrong on Silver's tongue, oily somehow. But he doesn't bother correcting his assumptions on a man, a love, long gone. Flint doesn't even want to think of Thomas right now, not with Silver still naked, all pale skin beginning to tan, lines of work and strain starting to make themselves known. He's different from Thomas in every regard, so much so that they feel like they belong in completely separate worlds. Thomas in the past, and in the dark nights when Flint finds his heart still bleeds like any man's, and Silver here, now, in the danger of the moment. Having them collide so suddenly is throwing him off balance, so that he doesn't know what to say or do.

Silver snaps the book closed and pushes it away, off to the side of the mattress furthest from where Flint is standing. He can't read the expression in the depths of those blue eyes, but he can read the way his lids hood, the way his teeth bite into his bottom lip. The insatiable bastard.

"Believe it or not, I do have a ship to run and men to manage," Flint says gruffly.

Silver merely stretches out his lithe form on the bed, and really lithe isn't the right word because he _is_ well muscled, strong even if he punches like a feinting nun and can't handle a knife to save his life. But underneath Flint, and laying naked on a messy bed with open invitation on his face, he appears thinner and smaller than he really is, like a molly boy or a whore. Flint really shouldn't get as much pleasure from that comparison as he does, but he also shouldn't be crawling back onto the mattress, hovering over Silver on all fours, yet here is.

Looking inordinately pleased with himself, Silver wraps loose arms around Flint's neck and arches his throat to lean in for a kiss. But Flint resists, pulling back from him, not willing to concede just yet  because he needs to make it clear that Silver will not be leading him about by his prick. He might get to make demands, like the use of an actual bed for once, but the sex is just sex, nothing more, and no matter how much they dance around each other, each trying to push but not shove, that'll never change.

Except when it does.

Apparently Silver takes Flint's refusal as a sign that he needs to be convinced anew.  He arches his back this time, so that their bodies brush together, and his interest is evident in the thick length that presses to Flint's thigh. It almost works, but then he opens his mouth.

"You can imagine me as Miss T.H. if it helps," he breathes, and Flint goes completely still above him. For a long moment he simply stares down at Silver and wonders how on earth something so stupid could have passed between those clever lips. At first Silver stares coyly back, but after it becomes apparent Flint isn't playing their game anymore, he smirks. "Something I said? Hit a sore spot?"

Flint snorts and pulls himself up, so that he's straddling Silver's hips, and sits back on his heels. Damn, he knows he shouldn't do it, shouldn't give a response to that, because obviously Silver is trying to play him now, but he can't help the words that slip off his tongue.

"If I wanted to fuck a Miss, do you really think I'd be here?"

One of Silver's eyebrows climbs higher, something lighting in his eyes, like he knows Flint has just admitted something big, but he's not sure what it is yet. Flint has to remind himself that giving this man even the smallest bit of information is like giving a hound a scent. It simply becomes a matter of time before he hunts it down.

"I suppose that's true," Silver admits, sliding his hands up Flint's thighs casually, until they rest near his hips. Flint twitches but allows it, knows that they're right back to playing again and he needs to focus or he'll slip and fall. "Have you turned your back on the fairer sex because they remind you of your T.H., or am I a special case?"

 Flint levels that comment the flat look it deserves, and Silver laughs quietly. "Right. I'm nothing special, duly noted. Well if that's the case then I struggle to understand why exactly you and your cock have deigned me with your presence time and time again when you could easily hire a whore."

"Whores do not have one of _these._ " Roughly, he wraps his hand round Silver's cock, giving it a harsh tug that has the man gasping and pressing himself up into the touch. Flint smirks. "Besides that and the tits though, there really isn't a difference."

Silver takes the bait of the distraction, his features souring. "Are you calling me a whore?"

It's Flint's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Of the two of us, who is currently on his back?"

"Of the two of us, who is the one with the cock in his hand?" Silver counters, something close to petulance sneaking into his voice. Then his eyes widen, impossibly blue, before settling into a more discerning expression. "You're deflecting though. Because you just admitted to me that you prefer men to women, but why..."

Flint counts the seconds it takes him to piece things together. He gets to three before Silver's entire face lights up, mouth forming a perfect 'Oh'.

"T.H.  wasn't a Miss, but a Mister," he says, sounding faintly awed, before he's twisting under Flint's weight to snatch up the book from where he'd set it aside earlier. "My truest love," he reads aloud, but the look of excitement fades as quickly as it had come, leaving him looking confused as he continues, "show no shame. I don't understand though, this is clearly addressed to you, but men can't love other men. It's impossible. Not in that way at least."

Sighing, Flint plucks the book from Silver's grasp and puts it aside once more. Then he looks down at the man beneath him, weariness in his expression. This game is getting exhausting. "There are many things men supposedly can't or shouldn't do together," he says, glancing pointedly down to where he still has hold of Silver's cock. More out of instinct than anything else he's been stroking, keeping Silver's interest alive but not giving him so much pleasure as to alter his thinking.

Silver follows his line of sight, his brow still drawn down, and the gaze he flicks back up to Flint's face says he thinks his Captain is something of an idiot. "Yes," he intones, speaking slowly, "we sodomites are well known. Men have been fucking for ages, it'd make sense that we turn to each other. But that's lust, desire. Men don't love other men."

With that, Flint loses any and all interest Silver might have been courting. He loosens his grip and rolls away, until he can get his feet on the ground and stand. Thomas' ghost is too strong, too potent in the air. It's disorienting him again, having Silver and Thomas overlap despite how completely opposite they are in every regard.

"Oh my god," Silver says, voice all awe again as Flint picks up his shirt from the floor and tugs it on over his head.  "You really believe he loves you. Or loved, judging by that vein in your temple. And you, you love him back. At least you think you do."

He's officially done now, he's not playing their stupid game anymore. Flint levels a glare at Silver as he snaps on his duster, then tucks _Meditations_ into one of the inside pockets. Their balance has almost been entirely upset, he can feel it, and he needs to retreat to recover from this loss. And it is a loss, Silver has played him completely, dragging the desired information out of him with an ease that leaves Flint's mouth dry. He won't give anymore ground today, refuses to, and he knows he's going to be planning his revenge the moment he steps foot out of this room. But before he can make it to the door, Silver is diving out of the bed, still completely naked, and grabbing onto his arm.

"Wait!" he says, his expression a little too wide eyed, a little too innocent. His curly hair halos about his head, all silk black casting his face into shadows. "Wait, I'm sorry. Stay, please. Maybe you can, tell me about him?"

Prying his arm from Silver's grasp, Flint leans in close, so that he can see the way Silver's throat bobs, how he licks his lips and looks both nervous and anticipatory. Then he pulls his lips back from his teeth. "Fuck you," he snarls, planting a heavy palm into the center of Silver's chest to knock him off balance. Before the man can regain his footing, Flint is already out the door and down the street, his strides filled with angry purpose and his chin lifted a  little too high.


End file.
